We The Children Of The World
by Rebellious Hurricane
Summary: Alfred moves into a brownstone with a group of orphans next door. But they aren't normal. They're immortal. And the children of some certain nations...


Anastasiya was trekking through the snow to the brownstone she lived in with her 'family.' That family consisted of Marcus, a biracial African American, Isis, an Egyptian, Felicia, an Italian, Konrad, a Prussian, his cousin Mary, a little German girl, Jung, a South Korean, and his cousin Iseul, a North Korean girl. All of them were orphans. All of them were different from others. Anastasiya sighed and stopped in front of the neighboring brownstone. She had lived a long time considering she only looked 21 years old. She was born in the early 1800s to a Russian woman. The woman died, and she never knew her father. She later immigrated to America and met Marcus, who was born a slave by the name Noah. She freed him and they went to the North. Noah changed his name and entered the Union army during the Cruel War eventually reaching the General rank. Later on, right after World War Two, they met Konrad, a Prussian and albino who had survived the Holocaust. A few years later Felicia and her mother immigrated to America and her mother died. Recently they came across Mary, Isis, Jung, and Iseul. They were all the same. They were immortal due to their fathers. As far as they could gather, they knew their fathers were the humanizations of the nations.

Yes, the humanizations of the nations. You read that correctly. Anastasiya was the daughter of the humanization of Russia. Marcus was the son of the United States of America. Isis was the daughter of Egypt. Konrad was the son of the dissolved nation of Prussia. Felicia was the daughter of Northern Italy. Mary was the daughter of Germany. Jung was the son of South Korea. And Iseul, poor girl, was the daughter of North Korea. She escaped to America from her home country, while the rest of them immigrated or were born there. They were drawn together by their fathers… And their love of music. The group sang. They sang every night. They learned songs by heart and had all the time in the world to do so.

Anastasiya looked up as someone yelled at her to move. A taller man, about Marcus's size and build, stood in front of her with a box in his hands. He had blonde hair with a strand that stuck strait up and bright blue eyes that reminded her of her African American friend. He wore a bomber jacket over a t-shirt and jeans with glasses and snow boots. He yelled at her again, and she moved out of the way.

"Stupid kids," the man muttered.

"Hey," she yelled at him. "I'm 21. You look barely 19!"

"Well sorry," he turned and glared at her. "So go home."

"I am home," she said and motioned to the brownstone she and the rest of them lived in. "We're neighbors I assume. Anastasiya Colombia," she used the surname they all did. Colombia was the name of a personification of America, but was a woman. They knew America was male.

"Alfred F. Jones," he grinned at her. "Truce? The hero can't be angry at a beautiful lady with that last name."

"I would shake on it, but you might drop your box." He burst out laughing.

"You should come over some time. I throw pretty good parties."

"Sorry, I have kids to take care of." He gave her a blank look. "I run a sort of orphan.." She was interrupted by Mary rushing and hugging her. The five year old had morning kindergarten and afterwards ran around with Marcus or Anastasiya. "Oh, hi sweetie. Mary say hello to our new neighbor Alfred."

Mary smiled up at the man and said, "Hewo Mistew Awfed." A collective Aww was let out from the older three. That is when they noticed Marcus.

"Marcus!"

"Hey Anastasiya," he nodded at her and then turned to Alfred. "So you are our new neighbor. I'm Marcus Colombia. 21 years old and governmental conspiracy theorist. If you work for the government I am just warning you." Marcus cracked a grin mirroring Alfred's.

"So how's the Albino," Anastasiya asked Marcus.

"Albino? Like the one who I saw dancing naked with a lamp shade on his head on your top floor a few moments ago," Alfred questioned.

Anastasiya's face drained of color. "KONRAD YOU IDIOT!"

Meanwhile at a school a few miles away the two nearly identical Koreans glanced at each other as the rest of their class looked around puzzled at the scream.

"He was dancing naked again," they deadpanned.

Back with Anastasiya, Mary, Marcus, and Alfred; Anastasiya dragged out the half dressed Prussian and started to beat him in the snow, Mary went inside, and Marcus and Alfred talked about Area 51 and watched Anastasiya beat Konrad. Suddenly Alfred, who had forgotten his load, yelled, "I'm the Hero!" and dropped his box. It hit the steps with a sickening clatter. All of them turned to look at him, and Konrad took that moment to escape and clothe the rest of his body.

"Shit the Prussian idiot got away," Anastasiya muttered under her breath.

"He's Prussian," Alfred asked. "I have a friend who's Prussian. He's an albino too. He has a bird that sits on his head."

"Does it poop on his head," Marcus asked and they both put on matching grins. Anastasiya let his words sink in.

"Marcus, house now. I need those groceries to make dinner," she said suddenly stern.

"Huh," he asked being dragged inside.

Anastasiya slammed the door and locked it, then started pacing. "Oh this is bad, this is bad. But in turn it might be good. We might meet them. But really this is bad. Oh why did you two have to hit it off…"

"What," Marcus asked, clueless.

Anastasiya turned to him. "Marcus that was America. That was your father."

America looked after the pair, then sighed and picked up the broken remains of the box. "What was that about," he asked himself and entered the brownstone.

Iseul loved ballet almost as much as singing. She and Anastasiya had that in common. On Sundays they would dress up in ballet costumes and perform for the others. Anastasiya had seen fit to place the North Korean in lessons after teaching all the girls a little and she was the only one to catch on. The young woman was set to be the star of the next ballet her group was putting on. But right now she was making her way through the snow of New York City, walking to the subway.

She was the only one of her 'family' who had known their father. She knew him and feared him. She was 16, a year younger than her cousin, but she had escaped by herself from North Korea at the age of 9. The man himself had come to her village once a month with the military. She had seen what he was like. He was truly kind, but put up a hardened steely military front. But he didn't know about her. Sure, he knew her; he just didn't know she was his daughter. Her mother had made sure that Iseul knew and Hyung-soo didn't.

Suddenly the young ballerina felt someone grab her shoulder. She swiveled around and held her switchblade up to her assaulter's neck.

"Hey, hey," a young Korean man said, holding his hands up in surrender and grinning sheepishly. "Sorry about that. It's just I thought you were my brother. But the knife proves you aren't. He likes pistols. I'm Yong-soo Im."

She slowly lowered her switchblade. "Iseul Colombia."

Yong-soo blinked. "Isn't Colombia a personification of America used in propaganda? And you are obviously Korean. How do you have that as a surname?"

"Yes it is," she responded to the first question and turned to go.

"Hey!"

"I have to get to my train," she said not looking at him.

"Can I at least give you my number?" She looked up at him. Mostly men asked for her number, not ask to give theirs to her.

"Uh, I guess." She was glad she had her month pass for her train. Yong-soo didn't scribble on anything, just pulled out a business card and handed it to her.

"Nice to meet you Iseul," he grinned and gave her a little shove. "Now go catch that train. And call me if you need anything." She smiled and gave him a little wave, then rushed to her train. As she stood grasping the pole on the train, his words suddenly dawned on her.

"He said I looked like his brother… I look like Appa… Was that Appa's brother? My…Ajeossi," she muttered under her breath. "Is…is Appa in the City?"

Felicia was just getting out of the library. She had to leave early to get home to Brooklyn in the snow. She sighed and watched her breath come out in puffs. She suddenly heard angry Italian. She turned to see an, obviously gay, couple. The Italian one seemed to be quite angry while his, apparently Spanish, lover stood their taking it like a real man. She stopped in front of them and just stared at them until the Italian noticed her.

"What do you want," he asked angrily. She blinked. She didn't know what exactly she wanted; it wasn't unfamiliar to hear angry Italian spoken on the streets here. Then she smirked.

"I just wanted to complement your boyfriend. None of my boyfriends can put up with my Italian rants."

"Don't complement hi... Did you say you spoke Italian? Live in 'Little Italy'?"

"Actually, no, I don't. I live in Brooklyn. Il mio nome è Felicia Colombia."

"I'm Lovino Vargas. This idiot is Antonio," the Italian motioned to the Spaniard who was studying Felicia intensely.

"She looks like Veneziano, Lovi."

"Huh," the Italian turned and studied her. "She does. That has to be a coincidence."

Felicia knew what Veneziano was. It was the Northern portion of Italy was called. It dawned on her who she was talking too. She was North Italian.

"Si, it must be a coincidence. How can I look like a piece of land?" Felicia said a quick farewell and rushed to get on her train. She managed to squeeze next to Iseul.

"Hi Sissy."

"Hey Feli…"

"You will never guess who I just saw," they said to each other as they were jostled around in the train.

"You first," Felicia said to the younger girl.

"My Zio," she said using the Italian word for Uncle Felicia had taught her.

"No way," Felicia gasped. "I bet there is some kind of meeting going on. I saw my Uncle too. At least I think so. I can't prove it. Can you?" Iseul shook her head.

"But I have his number." At that Felicia smacked herself.

"I should have gotten their numbers too…"

"Their numbers?"

"There was a Spaniard."

"You think?"

"Most defiantly. We have to tell the others."

The two Germanic cousins were sent out to have a snowball fight outside.

"Don't get run over," Anastasiya yelled as they stepped outside.

They started throwing snowballs at each other, laughing. One of Maria's missed, but they heard it hit someone.

"Watch where you're throwing things," yelled a voice with a heavy German accent.

"Sorry, my cousin doesn't throw well," Konrad said turning around to see who it was.

"Hey," Mary yelled at him, but ran up and climbed on his back.

Konrad, meanwhile, found himself face to face with a taller copy of himself and an older, taller, and defiantly angrier reverse gender of Mary. He gapped slightly and backed up, then narrowed his eyes.

"Die Hölle von uns entfernt!"

"V-vetter… who are they," Mary asked. But Konrad just rushed inside the brownstone and locked the door behind them. Anastasiya and Marcus stared at them, as if asking for an explanation.

"They're here. My Onkel and my Vater."

Jung loved football. He was the runner on his school's team. Coach said he was the best the school had in awhile. Proud as he was of it, he hated games and practices. He thanked God that due to the snow practices and games that week were canceled. He let out a whoop and ran out of school as fast as he could. It was a promising day. He did a quick cartwheel and back flip, which got some applause from tourists. He gave a little bow and started dancing, which prompted his audience to laugh and clap more. A few gave him money. He was about to walk away when he decided to give himself a dramatic exit. He started doing back flips consecutively and flipped over a group of small children. He did a full back flip turn and came face to face with his best friend Isis.

Isis was basically your average family minded girl. She was probably going to end up a singer and actress with a side of housewife. Right now she was glaring at her ham of a best friend.

"How much of an idiot are you?"

"Quite a lot if I can tell what you're thinking," he grinned at her. She stuck her tongue out at him, but let him take the crook of her arm so they could walk together in the crowd. "Let's do this," he suddenly whispered in her ear. She smirked and got in position. He twirled her around and they started to tango on the snowy streets of New York City. He leaned her back as if he was going to kiss her but then brought her back up. They ended with a flourish.

Suddenly the crowd started chanting, "Kiss, Kiss, Kiss!" Jung leaned her back again and kissed her on the lips. She let out a laugh and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. The audience let out an Aww.

"And that is all you are getting my friend," she said and pressed a finger to his grinning lips. The audience let out a few groans as she ran off with him close at her heels. They stopped on a park bench, still giggling.

Three people walked in front of them. "That was quite a show," said the shorter one in flowing Arabic robes. He took in Isis's clothing. She seemed like any fashionable Arabic girl in New York City. A Muslim headdress covered her hair. But what eluded the fact that she might be Muslim was a large ankh pendent and eye of Horus necklace.

"Thanks," Jung said, eyeing the three carefully. "I'm Jung Colombia. This is my best friend and fellow performer Isis Colombia."

"Heracles Karpusi," said the tired looking man with cats surrounding him. "My friends Gupta and Sadiq."

"I would never have guessed you would introduce me as a friend," said Sadiq, a Turkish man with a mask on his face. They started to squabble and Gupta rolled his eyes at his friends' antics.

"You related?"

"No, not at all," Isis said carefully.

"So why the same surname?"

She smirked. "You're not from around here are you? Most people who live here know we live in the Colombia orphanage."

"Orphans," all three of them asked at the same time. Jung winked at her. Time to exit stage left.

"Uh-huh," he said standing up.

"Well, if you ever need anything," Gupta said handing Isis a business card, "Just give me a call. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," they said running off to the subway.

"They seem… Different," Isis said as they sat down on a near empty train.

"I know, that's why I thought we should get out. We should show Anastasiya that card. Maybe she can figure out who they are," Jung suggested. Isis gave a nod and they rod in silence until they got off.

Anastasiya surveyed the slightly shaken group of people in the living room and sighed. This was going to be a hard decision. Who knows what could be going on… At that she made up her mind and stood up.

"I'm asking Alfred what is going on. I know that he will know."

"Who's Alfred," the High-School-ers asked.

"Our new neighbor," she said flatly as she put on her coat and headed through the door. She took the few quick steps to the next brownstone and knocked on the door. When the door opened, Alfred seemed surprised to see her, and she noticed there were people talking and laughing inside.

"What's up Ana," he asked.

"First, don't call me that, my name is Anastasiya, not Ana. Second requires you to step outside and close the door first."

"He, sorry Anastasiya," he said sheepishly, then called back into the house, "I'll be back in a minute guys!"

"I think hell on Earth describes your house accurately at the moment," she said mockingly and he laughed.

"Yeah, so what's up?"

"Do you have any idea about what happens when you bed a woman?" Not the way to start that conversation, she chastised herself.

"Eh, well… Nothing?"

"Wrong. You can actually get them pregnant… America." She saw him give a little gasp when she used his country name.

"How did…"

"How did I know? Your son is my boyfriend. You look the same, despite the fact he is African American. Do you even know what he had to go through? No, you don't. But I am asking, why are all my wards running across family members?"

"Wait, all of you are…"

"All of us are immortal, coming from our fathers' sides," she was getting annoyed.

"We have two Koreans, a German, a Prussian, an American, an Egyptian, a Northern Italian, and me; a Russian." Alfred gapped a little. "Now tell me, are you having a meeting or did you just invite everyone over for a housewarming party?"

"A meeting, tomorrow," he said, still a bit in shock. "I wouldn't invite some of them into my house normally…"

"Like North Korea?" He gapped a little more. "My 16 year old, Iseul, is his daughter. But keep this between you and everyone else in my brownstone. Let the fathers find out for themselves."

"Why are you telling me this," he asked, trying to contain himself.

"You deserved to know about your son," her eyes softened and she turned to go back to her brownstone. "Just remember that."

As she entered the living room she found many pairs of hungry eyes on her and she frowned.

"There is a world summit tomorrow apparently… And Marcus, I told him. About you. About all of us."

"What?" She starred her lover in the eyes.

"It was needed and you know it. You always wanted to know your father, and now you have a chance. We already know you get along well, take this chance. The chance I probably won't get."

All eyes were glued to her as she sat down in her chair, a comfy seat she got around the Second World War. She had told them about the Russian mental break on Bloody Sunday, but this solidified how bad it was.

"You mean he's still…"

"As far as I can tell… My Papa is still cracked. And I doubt he will be fixed." Little Mary climbed onto her lap and hugged her.

"Maybe you're the one who needs to fix him," she said looking into Anastasiya's shocked eyes.

The day was Saturday. Alfred had invited them to his brownstone after the world summit was over and the countries were going to be there. Anastasiya smoothed out Mary's dress and stood up straight.

"Everyone ready?" She was wearing a dress she brought when she first came from Russia. Marcus was wearing his Union uniform, still pristine due to her hard labor. Konrad was wearing the clothing they had bought him when he first came to America, denim pants, a brown corduroy jacket over a white dress shirt, and a matching fedora. Felicia was dressed as a flower child hippy, complete with daisy crown. Jung was in his hanbok while Isis was in her flowing Arabic robes. Iseul was wearing her hanbok too and was holding a traditionally dressed Mary.

"Ready," came the chorus of voices. They walked over and knocked on the door of the brownstone America owned. He opened the door and smiled at them, particularly the African American Union General.

"Come on in," he said gesturing inside. A few inside peaked around the corner to see the newcomers and ran around to announce to the rest. Anastasiya and Marcus followed just behind Alfred the others trailing after. Anastasiya moved like a princess, high but still kind. She almost fit with the era Marcus was dressed in. As they entered the main room all eyes turned to them. She gave a slight smile and caught on to Marcus's hand. He twirled her around allowing her dress to fan out. Mary started to run around other guests causing much laughter. Jung and Isis swaying to music only they could hear. Konrad and Felicia started talking to other guests, introducing themselves as engaged (which everyone believed). Iseul simply leaned back against a wall until a young man came up and starting talking to her.

The crowd was surprised when they all separated and regrouped differently. They started walking towards their respective family groups, though no one else knew it yet. Marcus and Alfred started chatting about Roswell, but the others stood quietly until someone engaged them. Finally something happened.

"You look like my mother," Gupta said quietly to the young woman he knew was his daughter. Isis smiled slightly at her father and hugged him. Laughing suddenly started among the Mediterranean nations as the group talked to her, getting to know her.

Yong-soo was staring quietly at his son. The ice breaker was when Hyung-soo noticed Iseul and swooped her up in a hug. The pair, having known each other before, started talking rapidly in Korean when Yong-soo heard her call his brother Appa. Hyung was shocked when the girl said that one word. She burst out in an explanation, and the young man just held his just discovered daughter. Jung smiled at them and gave a little laugh. "Cousin is good with the surprises, huh Appa." Yong-soo stared at him a moment then grinned.

"Yup. Guess it runs in the family."

Felicia smiled at her Zio, laughing and talking about clothing with her father and uncle. She had let it slip that Veneziano was her father near the beginning and had been welcomed with open arms, and pasta. Now they were prattling on about fashion. She was proud of what happened today.

Mary was lovable, but this man who was her father just ignored her. She was sad... She simply sat on her Aunt Hungary's lap and tried to get his attention. He was talking to her Onkel Austria, who played the piano well. She felt tears start to stream down her face as she jumped off her Aunt's lap and hurried upstairs. Why wouldn't her Vater just talk to her?

Konrad saw his cousin run out of the room crying, and he wasn't happy about it. He walked up next to where his Onkels were talking, across from his Aunt Hungary. Hungary saw his face and knew something bad was going to happen. Germany turned and glared at the albino, not realizing, like Austria, that the boy was the spitting image of Prussia.

"What do you want?"

"I just want to say, I could have forgiven you." And then Konrad socked him in the face and stalked upstairs to fetch his cousin, Hungary and Austria running after him, leaving Germany dazed.

The German cousins were not the only ones having trouble. Anastasiya noticed her Aunts staring at her. Well Belarus was glaring at her, but still. She just wanted to talk to her Papa, who was hiding under the table, trying to stay clear of Belarus.

"Why are you looking for my brother," Belarus asked with obvious distaste. Anastasiya simple glared back at her Aunt. "Tell me! You are scaring him off!" Anastasiya doubted this. "He is mine! And you can't have him!" Alright that got her, she pretended to go off around the corner but ducked under the same table her Papa was under.

"You were looking for me, da," he asked her in a whisper.

"Da."

"What for?"

"Reasons."

"Like what, da?"

"Can you remember about, oh, 209 years ago?"

"Da I can. Why?"

"That's when I was born. To a single mother in the Imperial Russian court." She noticed his face palling. "I'm your daughter."

"Die Hölle von uns entfernt!" means "Get the Hell away from us!" in German.


End file.
